


Stargazing

by kcstories



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: Canon Divergence, M/M, Post-War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-13
Updated: 2010-07-13
Packaged: 2017-10-10 13:04:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/100084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kcstories/pseuds/kcstories
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry has a birthday dinner at Malfoy Manor, and Albus and Scorpius are scheming.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stargazing

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Written late 2008 (IIRC) as part of my 100quills table.  
> Disclaimer: The Potterverse belongs to JK Rowling. This story was written for fun, not profit.  
> Pairing: Harry/Draco (Albus &amp; Scorpius friendship)  
> Warnings: Fluff, AU-ish, 1st person narrative, takes place post-epilogue but Harry and Draco are no longer married.

It's six p.m. sharp when the doorbell rings. 

Potter and his youngest male spawn are on time, it seems. A rather surprising change, but just as well; even for the git who saved us all, it would be terribly bad manners to show up late for his own birthday dinner. 

I watch from the living room doorway. 

Brimming with enthusiasm, Scorpius rushes after the elf that lets the Potters in. 

The Potter boy jumps my son by means of greeting, practically tackling him to the floor. Well, no prizes for guessing from whom he inherited that barbaric disposition. 

I cross my arms and raise an eyebrow at Potter Senior who's standing there, grinning like a loon. He's wearing an unfortunate burgundy jacket and the state of his hair makes me wonder whether he was struck by lightning on his way over. 

The worst thing, though: despite it all, he still looks good enough to eat. 

"Al," my son declares in a boisterous manner certainly not taught by me. "We're having ginger cake like I promised. Rinfy made it especially!" 

Potter's grin widens even further. From where I'm standing, it seems like any second now, his face might split right in two. 

I grit my teeth, quite certain I can feel one of those infernal migraines coming on. 

***

  
Dinner is pleasant but unusually lively. Ever since Scorpius' mother left, he and I generally have our meals in silence. 

Has it really been over two years since that day? 

Yes, apparently so. 

It was an amicable separation, much to my relief, and I don't exactly blame her for running off to France with Zabini. 

I might have done the same thing, albeit hardly with Blaise. 

The marriage was a huge mistake, in hindsight, but at least it gave me Scorpius. 

He and Albus are merrily chatting away as if they haven't seen each other in years, not mere days. Watching their interaction is always somewhat bittersweet. It makes me wonder what life would have been like if that first meeting between Potter and myself had gone differently and the two of us had become chums ourselves somewhere down the line. 

I suppose, strictly speaking, we're friends now, or at least the animosity is gone. It seemed pointless to continue it, particularly since almost three years ago to this day, Albus and Scorpius were sorted into the same House and became best friends on sight. 

If there is such a place as the afterlife, I'm willing to wager that somewhere, old Snape is laughing his head off, or sneering smugly, at the very least. 

"Aren't you going to show Albus' dad my Astronomy room, Father?" Scorpius asks me when we've just finished our desserts. "You promised last time, didn't you?" 

I frown, wondering why my son remembers this and moreover, why it's suddenly so urgent and important. 

"Well," I reply, putting down my napkin. "Are you interested in seeing that room, Po-Harry?" 

The only reply I receive is a small nod and it occurs to me that the man has a rather peculiar expression on his face; guilt, embarrassment? Damned if I know. It may be true that Gryffindors can often be read like an open book, but sometimes you're holding it upside down and it makes no sense whatsoever. 

"Are you two coming along?" I ask my son. 

He shakes his head. "I'm going to ask for more cake, if that's all right, Father?" 

I frown again, but decide not to inform him that the sugar might keep him awake all night. At his age, he doesn't need advice like that anymore and certainly not in front of his best friend, who's a Potter to boot. 

It's hardly desirable to be embarrassed in front of a Potter. I learned as much from painful personal experience. 

"Fine," I say, and make for the door. 

Wordlessly, Harry rises from his chair and follows me out. 

  
***

  
"I'm beginning to understand why your son excels at Astronomy," Potter says and I can practically distinguish the grin in his words. "He's got Al fascinated about the subject as well." He chuckles. "Who'd have thought a Malfoy would ever be a good influence on a Potter?" 

Ready to utter some playful retort, I tear my gaze away from the constellations I can see so clearly through the enchanted glass ceiling. I turn around and almost bump noses with him. When and how exactly did the two of us end up standing this close? 

"Er, oops," he says. "Sorry." 

I frown and open my mouth to reply, but find myself unable to utter a word. I can't even move. Something about his eyes, I decide. They've always enthralled me and all too often rendered me speechless. 

The next thing I know, he's kissing me on the lips. It's clumsy and uncertain, but there's an urgency to it that makes me wonder how long he has been wanting to do this. 

As long as I have, or is that just wishful thinking? 

I kiss him back and pull him closer. I can't resist, at least not until a rational voice in my head takes over and tells me to stop. _Too little, too late and altogether terrible timing. _

"Potter," I whisper and push him away gently. "Harry, we can't do this. Not now. Not here." 

He bites his lip, looking every bit like a kicked puppy and making me feel like the biggest bastard in the world. _Stupid Potter. Stop that. _

"Y-You didn't want to. I must have misinterpreted the signs when you brought me here. I thought… Sorry, never mind. I'm not good at… well, people." He steps, almost staggers backwards towards the door, and I find myself grabbing his hand, stopping him where he stands. 

"Potter, wait! I didn't mean…" 

He blinks. Confusion is written all over his flushed face. I'm going to have to spell this out, aren't I? Silly question. Of course I am. Stupid Hufflepuff in Gryffindor guise. Over two decades and a failed marriage have taught him nothing. That makes me the better man for once. 

"Harry," I begin carefully. "We're not seventeen anymore. We have children sitting downstairs. We can't just…" I take a deep breath and muster up all my courage. "I am attracted to you," I admit, "but let's be discreet and careful, and not rush head over heels into anything." 

He nods slowly, but looks disappointed all the same. "What do you suggest then?" he asks cautiously. 

"What do I suggest?" It's a good question, and one I should have given a lot more thought to before now. This attraction is hardly anything recent, even if it took me a while to admit it, even to myself. 

"Perhaps we could spend some more time together," I finally offer. "Just the two of us, see if we hit it off. I don't want us to blindly rush into things and…" 

"Shag here tonight under the stars?" he blurts out, subtle as ever. 

"Precisely," I say. 

He smiles at me, then, and steps closer again, pulling me into a hug. "I'd like that, Draco." 

Before we head back downstairs, we kiss once more and agree to meet up for dinner the following Friday—three days from now. 

I'm well aware that I'll kick myself later for letting him go, but it's the better—the wiser—option. At our age, we can no longer blame everything on the follies of youth, or the stupidity of the people who raised us. 

Which is a pity sometimes, really, particularly now, because Potter looks almost too good to resist, and I've longed to be close to him for years. 

***

  
Back downstairs, it appears our respective sons haven't yet mastered the art of whispering. Out in the hallway, we can hear their conversation loud and clear. 

"It's not going to work, Score," Albus says—and really, I do wish those two would knock it off with the ludicrous nicknames. "They hated each other all through school. We should be glad they can manage to be civil now, never mind er… anything else. Besides, I'm not sure my dad even… um… fancies blokes." 

A soft chuckle is heard, followed by my son's self-assured drawl. "We'll see. I bet you ten Galleons, Al, that they'll be an item before the summer's through." 

I give Potter a pointed look. 

He blushes profusely—how utterly predictable and yet at the same time, endearing enough to make my stomach flip; oh dear, this daftness seems to be contagious—and he says, something apologetic to his tone, "At least it won't be a huge surprise to our kids when we start dating." 

I roll my eyes, but can't help smiling. I suppose he has a point. I reach out in an attempt to flatten his impossible hair—it only ends up even more ruffled—and turn towards the door. 

I don't say a word when I walk back into the dining room, but Potter's grin speaks for both of us. 

I resolve to ask my son later what he intends to do with his winnings.


End file.
